


Rub a Dub Dub, Two Men in a Tub

by edelweissroses



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Coincidentally Does Not Know How to Use A Bath Tub, Connor is a Sass-Master Hidden Underneath a Guise of Innocence, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Everyone Lives Ending, Hank Anderson Regrets Everything and By Everything He Means Connor The Android Sent By Cyberlife, In Which He Temporarily is Seen on TV, Love Confessions, M/M, Oh No Whatever Will Happen Next, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Sumo is a good boy, The Best Boy, do not be fooled, mentions of Markus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 16:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15711225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edelweissroses/pseuds/edelweissroses
Summary: “If that was intended to shock me, Hank,” Connor droned, “I’m afraid to disappoint as I have no inner mammalistic instincts to splutter when facing a sudden, unexpected barrage of water.”“Yeah. No shit, genius,” Hank snarked, squirting a mysterious substance into Connor’s hair and harshly scrubbing it into his scalp, “You literally just tried drowning yourself in my bathtub half a second ago and then proceeded to count the ceiling tiles, weirdo.”“I would also like to point out that breathing is not a necessity that I possess and, thus, it is quite impossible for me to drown.”“Smart-ass.”“That is, fortunately, one of my many functions.”





	Rub a Dub Dub, Two Men in a Tub

“I’m headin’ out now,” Hank announced, slipping on his weathered leather boots that had so many holes, rips, and tears in it that it was only by a sheer _miracle_ that they were still stubbornly holding together, and pointed a firm finger towards Connor, “Don’t touch nothin’ while I’m gone.”

Connor blinked and cast a scanning glance around the living room, his brows furrowing.

“But, Hank,” he pointed out after a moment, “Technically, I am touching something at every passing moment. Not only am I currently touching the air surrounding me but, also the ground underneath my feet and the clothes that I am wearing-…”

Hank pressed his hands against his face, the portrait of a man burdened – _defeated_ – with long-suffering exasperation and all-too-used to Connor’s mock-naïve snark.

“You know what I meant, smart-ass.”

Connor merely smiled innocently.

“Seriously, though,” Hank grabbed the car keys and the reusable grocery bags that Connor had simply insisted (demanded) upon using after moving in together, “Don’t get into trouble.”

And then he closed the door behind him.

Connor tilted his head to the side, _listening._

To the loud, exasperated cursing coming from Hank after dropping the keys on the side-walk. To the grinding _screech_ of the sputtering car engine slowly coming to life. To the harsh slamming of the car door. To the ear-grating muffled screams of Hank’s current favorite death metal band being switched on. To the sound of the ancient car rolling down the street and ultimately disappearing.

It was only after it was completely silent for an entire minute and 30 seconds that Connor pivoted on his heel and sat on the musty couch, switching on the cable TV to the Local News Station.

Markus’ familiar face – filled with an expression of never-ending patience, kindness, and understanding – filled the screen.

Connor placed his hands upon his knees and watched.

Already a year had passed since everything happened. Already a year had passed since Androids rose up and demanded their independence. Already a year had passed since the entire world _changed._

And yet…

The Revolution, while having succeeded in granting Androids their lawfully recognized freedom and self-awareness, had ultimately incited more conflict around the world. Change simply wasn’t something that could be implemented and accepted with just a snap of the fingers. Every success had its drawbacks. And there were certain groups of humans around that resisted change.

Especially in Detroit.

After a precursory reevaluation period, Connor had been quickly reinstated as Hank’s partner and they had been assigned to a task force investigating a new wave of crime sweeping across the nation beyond deviancy. Hate crimes against Androids had sky-rocketed after Android-owned shops started popping up, after Androids started marrying and adopting children, after Android families started buying homes.

An Android Black Market had arisen within the deep underbelly of the city. Kidnapped Androids having had their memories swiped and reprogramed for servitude.

It was horrifying to witness; but, Connor had to hold onto the hope for a better future.

There was just no other choice.

The true path to universally recognized equality was a far longer battle than what anyone had expected. The protests and sit-ins, the unjust treatment and deaths of countless innocent androids by the hands of the law, all had helped Jericho’s cause all those months ago. Markus had led – and continued to lead – a movement that inspired androids and humans alike all across the United States. All around the globe.

Markus went onto talk-shows and news channels, attended interviews and conferences, frequented government offices and charity organizations. He campaigned non-stop for the increased protection of Androids in the face of rising hate crimes, assaults, and murders against their kind. He called for the urgent rescue and rehabilitation of his brothers and sisters from junk yards and dumps. Pleaded to save those whom had been discarded by their masters and were now slowly rotting away, slowly _dying_ without any hope of salvation.

That was exactly what Markus was speaking about now.

“When I woke up – abandoned, _discarded_ – alone in that junk yard… With the rain falling against my face and the thunder crashing around me, the night coating my surroundings in darkness…,” Markus’ clear and composed voice echoed throughout the living room, “I knew then that this was Hell on Earth.”

Connor leaned forward.

“Crawling through the mud… Through broken parts, amputated and ripped apart limbs, and puddles of Thyrium underneath me,” Markus frowned, pausing and recomposing himself from the horrors that he remembered and would likely rather forget, “Without the use of my legs, without my hearing, and nearing death with each passing moment without any sense of where I was and why…. I had never felt such fear. I… was afraid.”

Markus squared his broad shoulders and held his head up high. He looked straight into the camera, addressing the audience directly now, with a reserved strength and quiet determination that it was no wonder so many people had flocked to Jericho and fought on behalf of the Revolution.

“It was only though sheer chance that I managed to find the parts that I needed to survive and pull myself out of the darkness. However, many of my brothers and sisters were not as fortunate as I. They are still trapped in a never-ending nightmare – unaware that they are _free_ – and still they continue to suffer,” he opened his hands towards the camera, “Which is why I implore you, for your support and your charity, for the implementation of the new rescue initiative-…”

It was in that moment that Sumo decided to interrupt Markus’ emotional and riveting speech by placing his head in Connor’s lap and letting out a low whine.

“Please refrain from looking at me with that face,” Connor frowned, wholly distracted from Markus’ impassioned plea by those wide, drooping eyes and absolutely pathetic expression, “You’ve already been out.”

By the disgruntled, huffing _g-ruff_ elicited from the Saint Bernard, Connor supposed that this wasn’t what Sumo wanted. If he didn’t want to go outside for a walk, then there was only one other thing that he could have possibly wanted…

“No.”

Sumo’s wagging tail thumped on the floor.

“No.”

Another low-pitched whine.

“ _No,_ ” Connor repeated more firmly, leaning forward and wagging a disproving finger at the dog, “It’s not yet time for you to be fed. There is a strict schedule that the vet recommended for your health and continued satisfaction that must be adhered to-…”

But, Sumo continued gazing up at him with those sparkling, big, old puppy-dog eyes, guilt-tripping him with that fluffy tail thumping excitedly against the carpet. Connor slowly felt his resolve faltering quicker and quicker with each passing second-…

And then, acting as the final blow, Sumo licked his face.

“…Whatever you do, do not tell Hank.”

Sumo _g-ruff_ -ed happily in response and scrambled into the kitchen.

_Such a good boy._

Connor – resigning himself to his ultimate defeat – lifted himself up from the couch and switched off the TV. He entered the dining room where he pulled a plastic paw-print patterned bowl out from the cupboard. He grabbed a can of Sumo’s food from the top of the fridge – mentally noting that Hank did _not_ dust the top of it like he said he did – and pulled the pop-tab lid open.

He grabbed a spoon from the drawer of utensils underneath the counter and proceeded to scoop out Sumo’s mid-afternoon snack when a pair of large paws appeared beside him.

“Easy, Sumo,” Connor gently chided, pushing the bowl away from his snuffling nose.

“I’m almost finished,” he continued scooping out the canned dog food out into the bowl. But, Sumo continued pressing forward, leaning more and more of his massive body across the counter, anxiously scraping it with his claws – eager to get his treat.

“I’m moving as quickly as I can manage at this moment-… _Wait-…!_ Sumo-…! Sumo, no! _Sumo, stop!_ ”

But, Sumo did not wait.

He violently pushed Connor over off his feet (an amazing feat in itself considering that Connor was an _Android_ ) and knocked the bowl into the air, sending it clattering onto the floor and splattering the food all over Connor.

Sumo, ever the _good boy_ , didn’t mind this unfortunate situation at all and started licking the goo and processed meat bits from Connor’s face.

Connor merely stared up at the ceiling, accepting his fate. He had brought this upon himself and, now, he just had to deal with the consequences.

So, _of course_ , that’s when he heard the key turning in the front door and Hank coming grumbling in.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on the wooden coat rack beside the front door and slipped off his shoes underneath it, “Don’t judge me, Con. Forgot my fuckin’ wallet on the table like a goddamn idiot. I’ll be outta your hair in just a-…”

His heavy footsteps stopped in the doorway separating the living room from the kitchen.

“Save yourself, Hank,” Connor droned, outstretching his arm in the direction of the living room and allowing it to flop to the ground dramatically while Sumo – _bless his heart_ – continued slobbering across his face, “It’s too late for me now.”

“Goddamnit, Connor,” Hank groaned, his footsteps walking away, “I leave for five fuckin’ seconds.”

“Actually, you left approximately fifteen minutes and 45 seconds ago.”

“Yeah, and in that amount of time,” Hank’s arms suddenly slipped underneath his shoulders, pulling Connor out from underneath Sumo and onto his feet, “You managed to get tackled by my dog and make a mess of yourself and the kitchen.”

“Speaking of the kitchen mess,” Connor pointed out, “You did not dust the top of the fridge like I had specifically asked-…”

“Don’t make me drop you.”

“…What I meant to say was,” Connor amended, allowing his head to flop backwards and gaze upon the frowning, disapproving visage of one Hank Anderson, “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“That’s better,” Hank grunted and wrinkled his nose, “You’ve got dog food in your hair.”

“Do I?”

Sumo took that opportunity to suddenly raise himself onto his hind legs and plop his massive front paws on Connor’s chest, slobbering and drooling all over his face as he munched on his russet brown locks.

“It seems to me, Hank,” Connor observed, “That I, in fact, _do_ have dog food in my hair.”

“Alright, alright. Sumo _off._ Down, boy,” Hank grumbled, carefully pushing the dog’s face away. Sumo conceded and hopped back down onto the floor, licking the bits of canned food goo and processed meat off the tile. “This is why when I say don’t touch anything, I mean _don’t touch anything_.”

“Hank, I would like to point out that I have been living with you for exactly one year and I haven’t followed that rule since day one of our co-habitation,” Connor stepped away from Hank’s supportive arms, turning around to properly face him.

“Besides,” he supplied, smearing off the dripping dog saliva from his cheek and wiping his hand against his pant leg, “No one can resist Sumo’s puppy-eyes. Not even me.”

“Typical.” Hank rolled his eyes and passed him by, grabbing his wallet from the dining room table and stuffing it in his pocket. He lingered between the living room and kitchen, shifting back and forth from foot-to-foot before releasing an aggravated huff and gesturing Connor over, “Come on.”

“I’m not exactly in prime condition to join you grocery shopping.”

“ _For fu-…_ That’s not what I meant,” Hank turned around, crossing his arms over his chest, “I mean, let’s get you washed up.”

Connor blinked.

“I… do not understand.”

“ _Androids,_ ” Hank muttered underneath his breath, using that all-too-familiar tone indicating that what he _really_ meant to say was: ‘ _Connor, you goddamned idiot._ ’ He roughly grabbed Connor’s wrist, dragging him through the living room, down the hallway, and into the bathroom. Hank pushed his shoulder in the general direction of the tub, spelling it out simply for him, “Get in and wash yourself up. I don’t want you stinking up the house.”

Connor cast a scanning glance up and down the cramped shower space, his gaze lingering on the outdated showerhead for a moment too long-…

“It seems to me, Hank,” he casually observed, “That the shower is broken.”

“What?” Hank pushed past him to inspect it for himself, “Nonsense. It worked just fine yesterday-…”

It was in that exact moment that Connor could see the realization dawning in Hank’s wearied eyes, remembering the events that had transpired after having just a _little_ too much to drink last night after watching the basketball game at Jimmy’s bar. Connor had driven him home, returning a little past midnight, and unceremoniously locked him in the bathroom so that he could wash up before coming to bed.

Somehow, that venture had ended with Hank sprawled naked on the floor, screaming about alien abductions and the showerhead being unrepairably destroyed.

“ _…tequila_ ,” Hank hissed, running his hand through his prematurely grayed hair, “Should know better than to drink tequila on Game Night. Fuck. Run the bath then.”

“A… bath,” Connor repeated slowly and looked down into the tub, “I have never taken one of those before. How does one go about doing so?”

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“Have you ever heard me running a bath before, Hank?”

Hank grumbled that he didn’t pay attention to Connor’s shower habits or nothing like that and fastened the bath plug, turning on the faucet and watching the tub fill up with steam and water. Once it was filled a little over halfway did Hank switch off the water and gestured for Connor to hop inside.

“There,” Hank quickly pushed past him, heading towards the door, “Now, just do the things you usually do when you take a shower and leave me alone in peace and-…”

And then Hank watched in horror as Connor promptly knelt down and dunked his head completely underneath the water.

He scrambled through the bathroom, grabbed Connor by the shoulders, and roughly pulled him out, “For fuck’s sake, Connor! What you think you’re doing?”

“You said to do what I normally do whenever I take a shower,” Connor stated blatantly, water dripping down his forehead and across his cheek, “And it is typical of the showering experience to wash your hair underneath the water so, I presumed-…”

“For a goddamned android, you sure can be such a dumbass sometimes, Con,” Hank released a long-suffering groan – having lived with such ridiculous nonsense for an entire _year_ – and rubbed his hands down his face, “Alright. First of all, you get undressed and step inside the tub-…”

“Oh!” Connor exclaimed, “Of course. _And then_ I stick my head underneath the water.”

“ _What?_ No! Of course not,” Hank flung his hands in the air in the purest expression of exasperation, “Fine! _Fine!_ If I want something done right, it seems that I gotta do it myself.”

Hank leaned down and pulled off the novelty skull-and-crossbones socks that Connor had presented him for Christmas last December one-by-one, tossing them behind his shoulder. He stood back up and shrugged off his T-shirt, revealing a chest and pleasantly plump belly covered in curling white hair and an array of tattoos Connor had never seen before.

Then, Hank started unbuttoning his jeans-…

Connor promptly found the ceiling all too _fascinating._

“Hank,” he wrung his fingers together, “If I may inquire-…”

“Shut up and get undressed,” Hank ground out, “Keep your shorts on and get in _the goddamned tub already._ ”

Connor determined it far more prudent and _wise_ to just… _not_ question him in this moment. Thus, Connor silently slipped off his shirt over his head and unbuckled his leather belt, slipping off his trousers-…

And stepped into the small tub, sitting inside with his long, gangly legs pulled firmly against his chest and resting his hands against the tops of his knees.

Hank, clothed in nothing except his plain gray boxer shorts, slipped inside moments after.

“Did you know that there are approximately 152 ceiling tiles right above us at this exact moment?”

“…Well, ain’t that just dandy,” Hank crossed his arms over his broad chest, staring him down, “Alright, lean forward and close your eyes.”

Connor blinked.

“I… do not understand. For what purpose would it serve?”

“Would you just trust me already and do it, Con? We ain’t got all day.”

“One moment please.”

“Ugh, fine, _fine_ ,” Hank gestured outwards with his hand and leaned back in the tub, “Take your time while you make up your mind, why don’t you?”

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor smiled in that obliviously innocent manner that he knew just _irked_ the hell out of him and nodded curtly, “I will gladly proceed to do so.”

Hank’s following eye roll and upwards flick of a _most unkind_ finger made Connor feel all the more accomplished.

As much as Connor thoroughly enjoyed annoying Hank with the most current round of “ _Am I Really That Oblivious or Am I Just Fucking with You?”_ with increasing levels of difficulty and smartassery, he genuinely did take advantage of this brief moment of silence and reflection to think this through.

This situation was… unexpected and, for an Android that could pre-construct and reconstruct over 3.5 million different scenarios within the blink of an eye, that was a most worrisome problem.

Not to say that he didn’t enjoy such an outcome. Hank was characterized by unpredictable spontaneity and rashness that, try as he might, Connor simply couldn’t keep up with. It was one of the many things that he _liked_ about Hank.

However, sharing a bath… was quite the _intimate_ experience.

And that was exactly what made it simultaneously pleasurable and highly uncomfortable.

Because Connor Model RK800, the Android sent by Cyberlife to investigate deviancy only to become deviant himself, had the biggest, gooiest, unquestionably _human_ crush on his partner.

“I have come to a decision,” Connor ultimately decided and leaned over, following Hank’s instructions and hanging his head before him, his eyes fluttering closed, “And you may proceed.”

And then, Hank dumped water over his face.

“If that was intended to shock me, Hank,” Connor droned, “I’m afraid to disappoint as I have no inner mammalistic instincts to splutter when facing a sudden, unexpected barrage of water.”

“Yeah. No shit, genius,” Hank snarked, squirting a mysterious substance into Connor’s hair and harshly scrubbing it into his scalp, “You literally just tried drowning yourself in my bathtub half a second ago and then proceeded _to count the ceiling tiles_ , weirdo.”

“I would also like to point out that breathing is not a necessity that I possess and, thus, it is quite impossible for me to drown.”

“Smart-ass.”

“That is, fortunately, one of my many functions.”

Hank snorted and continued coarsely scrubbing shampoo into Connor’s hair, working the substance into a flurry of foaming suds that Connor felt dripping down the sides of his face and gathering atop his shoulders.

“Hank, are you washing my hair for me?”

“If you tell anyone – and I mean _anyone_ – I’ll murder you in your sleep, Con.”

“Noted,” Connor commented, undeterred, “I will promptly deactivate my sleeping application prior to this evening.”

“Won’t make any difference,” Hank huffed, “Then, I’ll just kill you when you’re awake. No sweat off my back.”

“Highly unlikely but, I admire your dedication no matter how impossible this fantasy you hold onto may be.”

“For fuck’s sake, Connor: do you want me to wash dog food goo out of your hair or not?”

“Please continue.”

They sat there, falling into a comfortably uncomfortable silence as Hank’s weathered hands worked through Connor’s hair, washing out every last bit of smelly dog food bits, grease, and gooping goo. It was quite a lovely sensation. Not the dog food but, Hank’s nails scratching against his not-so-very tender scalp. His fingers roaming in a rough softness throughout his hair.

His hand dipping down towards the right of his face-…

Connor’s eyes flashed open.

And he tightly grabbed onto Hank’s wrist at the same moment his fingertips brushed over the rapidly blinking yellow LED.

Time froze for a moment then; but, once the reality of the situation hit him, Connor quickly released his bruising grip around Hank and placed his hand back onto the top of his knee.

“… I… am sorry.”

“Don’t be. S’my fault. I know you’re sensitive about it,” Hank brushed off the entire altercation before casually gesturing to the now calmly shining blue LED, “Why do you insist on keeping that thing anyways? Don’t most androids remove it after… y’know, _deviating?_ ”

“It… _means_ something to me,” Connor responded after a moment, glancing up at the tiled ceiling and feeling the shampoo suds dripping down his back from the motion, “I realize that it serves no vital purpose to my overall functioning aside from identifying my status as an Android. However, that is… also why I have chosen to keep it.”

“I thought most Androids wanted to look as human as possible.”

“I am not ashamed of what I am, Hank,” Connor responded, “Most of my kind have associated being alive and free with removing all visible aspects of being an Android. Removing their LED acts as a symbol of breaking away from all ties with their former subservient lives. That is a meaningful decision for them and it is, by no means, wrong. However…”

Connor tapped the side of his forehead.

“My retainment of my LED reminds me of where I came from. Where I started. And it lets others know exactly _who_ and _what_ I am. I am the Android Connor and I do not want anyone to confuse me with being human because there is nothing wrong with being an Android. I am alive whether I look like _you_ or whether I look like _me._ ”

“Huh… Never thought about it that way before,” Hank hummed as thoughtfully as a gruff, alcoholic detective _reluctantly_ attending regular AA meetings could, before gesturing back at the LED, “But, don’t you hate that it’s basically a big, shiny mood ring though?”

“A big, shiny-…,” Connor began to repeat before deciding upon shaking his head instead, “No, I don’t mind that at all. Having a blinking light shining blue and yellow – and, on occasion, red – indicating my levels on how upset or aggravated I am, makes it all the simpler for you to come apologizing to me afterwards when you’ve made a serious error.”

“Apologize after-…,” Hank scowled, “ _Why you little shit-…_ ”

Connor smirked and tilted his head to the side, “Weren’t you going to wash my hair, Hank?”

“I fuckin’ regret this. I regret everything about this,” he grumbled out, those two sentences paired together now a common expression in Hank’s vocabulary, “You hear that, Connor? _Serious_ regrets.”

“Your grievances have been noted.”

Hank dramatically rolled his eyes and gestured for Connor to lower his head once again, washing out the shampoo, leaving it squeaky clean and, most importantly, free of dog food. He applied the conditioner, smoothing his fingers through Connor’s russet hair, before removing his hands completely and washing them underneath the water.

Connor blinked.

“What?” Hank crossed his arms back over his hairy chest and looked away, “You gotta wait a couple minutes for the conditioner to settle in, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Connor answered with a firm nod, “But, I never would have calculated that you understood such a basic requirement of universally expected hair maintenance.”

“Just because I’m a guy doesn’t mean I dunno how to take care of myself.”

Connor raised a doubtful brow, slowly scanning Hank’s scraggly, unkempt graying hair and the plump beer belly that had developed after years and years of not caring for his health and nursing himself on a bottle of Budweiser every night.

“And, I suppose…,” Hank squirmed uncomfortably underneath his gaze, growing reluctantly quiet and pensive, “I used to give my son baths like this when he was little.”

Silence momentarily fell between them.

“You were a good father, Hank,” Connor eventually remarked, “You loved him very much.”

“Yeah… more than anything.”

“What was Cole like?”

Hank laughed bitterly and rubbed his eyes with a sudden tiredness that, while not always visible was always there lingering underneath. “You convinced me to get the help I needed, Con, and I appreciate it. But, I ain’t ready to talk about _that_. Not yet.”

“I understand,” he responded, “If this is too difficult for you, I’m certain that I can figure out how to bathe myself.”

“No, no,” Hank shook his head and squared his shoulders, turning his gaze back onto him, “I’m already committed to this and, damn it, I’m sticking to it.”

“But-…”

Hank snatched the strawberry-scented liquid soap that Connor had insisted on buying the last time they visited the store together, squeezing some out onto a washcloth and – all while maintaining eye contact – shoved it into Connor’s face.

“Need I remind you, Hank,” he responded through a mouthful of suds and fabric, “If your intent was to shock me, I am physically incapable of spluttering.”

“And yet, you’re still squirming,” Hank roughly grabbed his jaw, holding Connor still and scrubbing his cheeks raw, “You brought this on yourself, Con. Suffer the consequences.”

“I was under the assumption that you were only washing my hair.”

“And I was _under the assumption_ ,” Hank mocked,” …that you weren’t gonna touch nothing while I was gone but, here we are. Two men in a tub.”

“……”

“Got nothing to say to that, huh Connor?”

“Would _‘touché’_ suffice?”

“ _Ha!_ ” Hank dipped his head backwards and laughed, scrubbing down Connor’s nose now in a manner that he found mildly unpleasant, “I win.”

“I was not made aware that we were competing in any sort of game, Hank.”

“Just shut up and let me bask in my victory.”

“But-…”

“ _Shhh, basking._ ”

Connor ultimately decided to allow Hank to have his moment – however bizarre he found it to be – and remained quiet as he continued washing his face with a proud and accomplished grin splattered across his bearded visage.

It was then that Connor realized that he found Hank _much too close._

His face mere inches away from his that with any wrong movement (or right?), he could close the gap between them within an instant. So near to him that, should Connor decide upon it, he could easily reach out and touch his cheek.

Hank obliviously scrubbed behind Connor’s ears, his eyes focused on nothing more than his work.

Connor watched him.

And, with softly parted lips, found himself strangely _enjoying_ having Hank taking care of him for a change. It usually ended up being the other away around more often than not. The only exceptions – despite being entirely ingenuine – were whenever Connor purposely played up his _hopeless naivety_ to mess around with Hank, knowing exactly what his partner often meant and deciding to pretend otherwise anyways because he did it so well.

But this…

This was a wonderful, mindlessly flustering outcome to Connor – for once – genuinely not knowing how to do something.

Hank scrubbed down his jaw and underneath his neck.

“Did you know that you have 89,364 hair follicles that make up the foundation of your beard?”

Hank raised his gaze, their eyes meeting, “What?”

“And that you currently have 362 eyelashes altogether with 127 on your upper right eyelid and-…”

“Connor, what the everlasting _fuck_ are you doing? Is everything alright?” Hank grimaced, taking Connor’s jaw between his thumb and forefinger and inspecting his face, “Are you… short-circuiting or something? What the hell.”

The entire Earth stilled.

And Connor decided to take a chance.

“Hank, I believe a small portion of Sumo’s dog food spilled onto my chest as well.”

“What’re you talking about?” Hank looked him up and down, leaning back in the tub, “That’s ridiculous, Con and you know it. I dunno what the hell you’re doing but-…”

But…

Hank suddenly paused mid-sentence, surely recognizing something about the way Connor looked at him or seeing something entirely imperceptible altogether. He didn’t know. Didn’t care. But, Connor watched with baited breath as Hank’s eyes widened in dawning realization and-…

“I mean…,” Hank swallowed, recomposing himself, “Yeah… I think so too.”

If Connor had a human heart, it would be threatening to burst out of his chest by now.

“I should uh…,” Hank continued, “I should probably help you clean that up.”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Hank stared into Connor’s unblinking brown eyes for a prolonged moment, his gaze flickering down every so often as if he were only _just_ noticing his body for the very first time, before eventually leaning forward with the sudsy washcloth in hand.

Connor watched every movement.

Hank, resisting temptation, began at Connor’s bared shoulders. He lightly scrubbed broad circles into the pale artificial skin – tinged with a vibrant, glowing undertone of easily recognizable Thyrium blue – and leaned ever so close that Connor could feel his warm breath ghosting across.

His calloused hands dipped down and followed along the boney ridge of Connor’s collar, diving between the curving v in the middle and lingering around his chest. Hank covered inch of him with strawberry-scented soap suds, going down even lower and lower to his sensitive abdomen, taking his time stroking up and down in sweeping lines-…

Before lifting up Connor’s arms over his head to slowly scrub down his sides, his hips, his-…

“I think…,” Connor hesitated when Hank suddenly looked up, his _beautiful_ face lingering close enough to Connor’s belly that he could feel the ends of his graying beard scratching across his skin. That and paired with those absolutely _lovely_ steel-blue eyes gazing up at him-…

He promptly lost all access to his inner dictionary and speech functions.

At least, for only a second or two.

“I think…,” Connor outstretched his hand, baring his wrist to him as if he were baring the entirety of his naked soul, “I think there’s some on my arms too.”

“Right,” Hank responded, leaning backwards in the bathtub and hooking his hand around his wrist, stretching Connor’s arm, “Of course.”

He delicately placed the overused washcloth against his bicep, curving down in slow, exploratory movements towards his elbow. He circled lower and lower, dragging the cloth agonizingly – _sensually_ – across his bare palm and down each and every finger. Nothing escaped Hank’s attention.

His eyes never once left his.

Connor found himself unable to resist any longer.

He slipped his now thoroughly sudsy hand behind the back of Hank’s head in one sweeping, blatantly non-human movement, his fingers threading through his silvery hair, and pulled him closer.

“I think you missed a spot on my face.”

“I think you’re right.”

“I am going to kiss you now.”

“Fucking _finally._ ”

When their lips met – Hank astonishingly _gentle_ , Connor unexpectedly _needy_ – he found that kissing Hank was everything that he had ever imagined it to be and _more._

How many times had Connor fantasized about this exact moment (albeit never once in a _bath tub_ , of all the peculiar places) before?

How many times had he preconstructed a heated scenario of Hank cornering him outside the bedroom door, his large hands pressed firmly against the wall on either side of Connor’s face, passionately kissing him during the aftermath of an argument? How many times had he pictured himself taking the lead and, after having successfully chased down a long-evasive culprit and finally taken them into custody, grabbing Hank by the back of the neck and crashing their lips together?

How many times had he imagined a sweeter moment?

How many times had Connor envisioned the both of them waking up one mid-winter morning in their reluctantly shared bed, Connor sprawled inelegantly over Hank as always. How many times had that dream ended with Hank gazing adoringly into his eyes, Connor staring down affectionately into his and their heads gradually moving closer and closer until nothing – not even the air around them – kept them apart.

Connor threaded his fingers even tighter around Hank’s hair in a surprising display of desperation that he never thought himself capable of before, his arm slipping around his bare back and pressing him firmly against his chest. He wanted nothing separating them. Wanting nothing more than to just feel Hank in his arms and prove to himself that _this…_

This was _real._

Connor’s sensors were running haywire and when Hank’s tongue entered his mouth, his entire world exploded around him in a mind-numbing cacophony of wondrous _flavor._ He analyzed everything that lingered within his mouth. The smooth yet burning taste of Tequila and Jack Daniels and Rum and of-…

“Is that what _burgers_ taste like?”

Hank pulled away, staring down at Connor as if he had just declared that he wanted to run down the streets of Detroit wearing nothing but a chicken suit he had bought off of E-Bay, “…what?”

“I now understand the appeal. It is not surprising that they hold so much jurisdiction over your health and lifestyle,” Connor promptly grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled Hank into another kiss, wanting another positively _sinful_ taste of that savory beef burger overloaded with cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickle, onion, and extra _extra_ bacon pressed between two perfect toasted sesame seed buns and slathered in ketchup. “It’s _wonderful,_ Hank.”

“… weirdo,” Hank leaned back in the tub, pressing an exasperated hand against his warm forehead and laughing, “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

“I do not understand.”

“You finally kiss me-… Which, _thanks_ by the way, for keeping me hanging there for goddamned months, pal. _Months._ I never thought you’d actually grow the balls to do it-…. Where was I again? Oh, right,” Hank flung his hands into the air, sinking back into the water, “You kiss me and all you can talk about is fuckin’ _cheeseburgers._ ”

“It is imperative that I mention that, considering that I was never designed to consume actual food, I have never eaten a single meal or snack before. Therefore, tasting something for the first time in the history of my existence was… surprising,” Connor pointed out, mulling it over, “However, I suppose that my blood sampling processes might be considered as something similar-…”

“Fuck. Now I’m remembering everywhere that tongue has been,” Hank groaned, “I need to brush my teeth with vinegar and _bleach_.”

“Hank,” Connor interrupted before he could continue describing every single crime scene that they had ever visited in their year-long history as partners, “I like you.”

Hank paused and crossed his arms over his chest, scratching his bicep. “Yeah, I know. Surprisingly enough, I like you too. _Bastard._ ”

Connor just couldn’t help himself.

“But, Hank,” he pointed out, “Considering that I am an Android and we do not have parents that we can trace biological ancestry through, I cannot fall within the qualifications of what constitutes a bastard – otherwise known as a male son born out of-…”

“For fuck’s sake, Con,” Hank groaned, “I can’t even say that I like you without being a _dick_ about it.”

“I do not understand what you mean by that, Hank.”

“Ugh, _androids._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, my loveliest lovelies and darling-iest darlings!!
> 
> It was inevitable. How have I managed to hold out this long? It's been one week since Detroit: Become Human entered my life and it is on this day that I admit to myself - that I admit to the world - that the best ship to come out of this series-....
> 
> Is Sumo with all the treats in the world.
> 
> Oh, and Hannor is cool too.
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed reading this, my lovelies, as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please leave your comments and critiques below and whether or not you'd like to see more Detroit: Become Human content! I may or may not have the bare bones of a multi-chapter fic floating around in this ye old brain of mine.


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